Survival Clause, стр. 34
Grimaldi gave me a sardonic look, and Rafe chuckled. I blushed. “Yes, that’s too young for my mother. She’s almost sixty. Audrey’s sixty-one. So was my dad. And my aunt Regina is a few years older. But she works for the local paper. She might have taken an interest in the case back when it happened. I can check with her whether she remembers anything.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Grimaldi said formally.
“Don’t mention it.” I grabbed the diaper bag, Rafe grabbed the baby, and we headed out.
Ten
My aunt and uncle live in a small, pink Victorian cottage in the center of Sweetwater, just a block or two from the Albertsons, and about the same from the love nest Mother shares with the sheriff.
Aunt Regina is my father’s sister, a couple of years older, and she’s the gossip columnist for the local paper, the Sweetwater Reporter. It’s more make-work than anything else, I guess, or at least it doesn’t pay her a living wage, but Uncle Sid had a good job until he retired at sixty-two, so they don’t need, and never did need, Aunt Regina’s salary. Now, Uncle Sid spends his time golfing, while Aunt Regina does what she’s always done, and sticks her nose into other people’s business, for pay.
She was in the yard when we pulled up outside the fence, kneeling on some sort of little foam board—easier on aging knees than the hard ground, I figured—and she was pulling weeds from one of the flower beds. In addition to gossip, gardening is one of Aunt Regina’s passions.
She turned when she heard the car pull up and stop, and shaded her eyes from the late afternoon sun still hanging above the rooftops across the street. “Oh,” she said after a second, “it’s you two.”
“Three.” I pulled Carrie’s seat out of Rafe’s—or the police department’s—Chevy and headed for the gate. Rafe was there before me, and swung it open, gallantly, before he sauntered across the grass—his saunter can cover ground about as quickly as I can run—and extended a hand to Aunt Regina.
She contemplated it, contemplated her gardening glove, and decided to hell with it. She put her hands in his, both of them, and let him haul her to her feet. “Thank you.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” my husband assured her, with a wink. “Savannah has a couple questions.”
“You want to come inside?” Aunt Regina trotted toward the steps to the porch, pulling her gardening gloves off as she went. “I have some lemonade, or I can make tea or coffee.”
“It won’t take long,” I said, “and it’s nice out here.”
“Then have a seat.” Aunt Regina gestured to the porch swing. “You two sit there. I’ll take this precious bundle.” She fell on the car seat and extricated Carrie while Rafe and I made ourselves comfortable in the swing. He pushed off with his foot, and while the swing squeaked ominously, it didn’t creak like it was about to give way.
“Uncle Sid golfing?” I asked, while Aunt Regina held Carrie on her lap and cooed at her.
She nodded, and spared me a single glance before turning her attention back to Carrie. Aunt Regina and Uncle Sid married late, and never had kids of their own, so they’ve more or less adopted us and ours. Between Catherine and Jonathan, Rafe and me, and Dix, there are now six grandchildren. Plus David, but he’s rarely in Sweetwater.
Catherine and Jonathan are probably done. Dix may not be. He’s only thirty, and if he gets remarried, his new wife might want kids of her own. And Darcy has no children at all so far. If she and Nolan figure out their relationship, Aunt Regina might end up with a few more.
But all of that was beside the point at the moment. I cleared my throat. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Go ahead,” Aunt Regina said.
“I guess you heard about the dead woman found down by the interstate?”
She made a face. “Terrible doings. But she was from Nashville, wasn’t she?” And no problem of ours, in other words.
I nodded. “Rafe’s investigating.”
Aunt Regina arched her brows at him. “I thought it was the sheriff’s case.”
“It’s everybody’s case,” Rafe said. “Just this morning, we had an FBI agent drive in.”
“Goodness gracious.” Aunt Regina turned Carrie around and cradled her, the better to pay attention to what we were saying. “That’s a lot of manpower for a dead prostitute.”
“It’s a serial killer case,” I told her, and watched her eyes widen while Rafe’s brows lowered.
“Darlin’—”
“We have to tell her,” I said. “Otherwise, how is she going to understand why we want to know?”
He didn’t say anything, but he shook his head. “You can’t publish nothing,” he told Aunt Regina sternly. “Some of this is information we don’t want to get around. Right now, nobody’s made the connection between this murder and any of the others, and the longer we can sit on that, the better.”
Aunt Regina nodded, as innocently as if butter didn’t melt in her mouth. “Of course, Rafe.”
He gave her a narrow-eyed stare—I didn’t blame him—but she added, “You can trust me. I won’t betray a confidence from a family member. I promise.”
“Then go ahead,” he told me, “ask her.”
I turned to Aunt Regina, but she was already talking. “Serial killer?”
“Eighteen women,” I said, “that we know of—”
Her eyes widened.
“I’m serious, Aunt Regina. This is a huge case. A really big deal. You can’t leak it.”
“I promised I wouldn’t, Savannah.” She bounced Carrie up and down as the baby started to fret. “Just tell me what I can do for you.”
“She wants food.” I reached for her. “Do you mind…?”
Aunt Regina shook her head and handed the baby over. “So eighteen dead. What is it you want from me? I didn’t know this woman. And to the best of my knowledge, I don’t know any serial killers.”
“The first victim,” I said, while I hoisted up my blouse and got Carrie situated, “was local. Laura Lee Matlock.”
She leaned